Batouch stopped laughing, glanced round, then came towards him with a large pace, swinging from his hips.

“Monsieur?”

“Batouch!” Androvsky said.

But he could not go on.  He could not say anything about the two tents to a servant.

“Where—­where is Madame?” he said almost stammering.

“Out there, Monsieur.”

With a sweeping arm the poet pointed towards a hump of sand crowned by a few palms.  Domini was sitting there, surrounded by Arab children, to whom she was giving sweets out of a box.  As Androvsky saw her the anger in him burnt up more fiercely.  This action of Domini’s, simple, natural though it was, seemed to him in his present condition cruelly heartless.  He thought of her giving the order about the tents and then going calmly to play with these children, while he—­while he——­

“You can go, Batouch,” he said.  “Go away.”

The poet stared at him with a superb surprise, then moved slowly towards Ouardi, holding his burnous with his large hands.

Androvsky looked again at the two tents as a man looks at two enemies.  Then, walking quickly, he went towards the hump of sand.  As he approached it Domini had her side face turned towards him.  She did not see him.  The little Arabs were dancing round her on their naked feet, laughing, showing their white teeth and opening their mouths wide for the sugar-plums—­gaiety incarnate.  Androvsky gazed at the woman who was causing this childish joy, and he saw a profound sadness.  Never had he seen Domini’s face look like this.  It was always white, but now its whiteness was like a whiteness of marble.  She moved her head, turning to feed one of the little gaping mouths, and he saw her eyes, tearless, but sadder than if they had been full of tears.  She was looking at these children as a mother looks at her children who are fatherless.  He did not—­how could he?—­understand the look, but it went to his heart.  He stopped, watching.  One of the children saw him, shrieked, pointed.  Domini glanced round.  As she saw him she smiled, threw the last sugar-plums and came towards him.

“Do you want me?” she said, coming up to him.

His lips trembled.

“Yes,” he said, “I want you.”

Something in his voice seemed to startle her, but she said nothing more, only stood looking at him.  The children, who had followed her, crowded round them, touching their clothes curiously.

“Send them away,” he said.

She made the children go, pushing them gently, pointing to the village, and showing the empty box to them.  Reluctantly at last they went towards the village, turning their heads to stare at her till they were a long way off, then holding up their skirts and racing for the houses.

“Domini—­Domini,” he said.  “You can—­you can play with children—­to-day.”

“I wanted to feel I could give a little happiness to-day,” she answered—­“even to-day.”